Kundera, forgotten cycles and Paris

It is at these times when all of a sudden I am thrown into writing, do I believe that I am a writer. It provides my identity to no one else but myself. It is in this silent night that I am realizing suddenly how beautiful Paris really is. So how do I arrive at this conclusion now? Lo and Behold! The woman. The suggestion of a novel. The writer. The forgotten cycle! A mere 30 pages into Milan Kundera's "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" makes me want to scream out loud in public the all-too-deeply guarded emotions I have been feeling for the last few days. And why should I not?
What good will it do me to try to be someone else anymore? The truth is simple. I am in love with Paris. I miss being in Paris. I miss living with the weight of all my expectations. I wonder how a novel can turn a whole idea upside down through just a few pages! The idea in question is my escapism. Staying away from the woman I love, from the place I adore, from the truth of my life - seems like a good idea when the burden weighs me down. But in this lightness of living my life away from its soul, resides a heaviness too unknown.
I wonder what fruits the trees of practicality flower. In your quest of being practical you will forever be a little too blind to see the artistry of emotions. Each stroke of the brush on the white canvas is like a thousand whips on the delicate body and yet, as the image starts to form, the wounds disappear into subsequent layers of colours. You ask me to refrain, to think, to wait, to accept.
I dare you; to dream, to enact, to walk and to love. Yes, to love! Read it again, To love.
O you idiots! I was born to love. To not listen to your advice. To only do as my heart commands. And it is not strange really that I have not found a single partner on this joy-ride of life!
What can you ever trade with me now? I am the richest person I know! I possess in me the knowledge that the woman I love is the only witness to my reaction to the first glimpse of the magnanimous Eiffel tower! And there would be no one else. For like Kundera says, things that happen only once become nostalgia! I wouldn't have it any other way. The best moments of my life have been spent awake and alive.
What can you offer in exchange my dear practical, intelligent friend? My first footsteps along the Seine have been touched by Eternity! Who the hell can undo the reality now? Do not ever come to trade with me until you are ready with the required investment.
Well, you really wont understand. The wine has finally made me high! It has taken it a damn week to show its effect.
In this melancholy of a calm Dresden night, I long for Paris. I long for my true self. I am in love. O I am so much in love! How I wish my name would disappear from the waiting list! Why should a lover be constrained by absurd notions of practicality? It's futile to infuse sense into madness and probably madness into sense, too. Sense brings boundaries. How do you justify those for the unbound?
Do I want her to read this? Yes, I do. Do I want them to read it? I don't know. Do I want you to read it? I have only been talking to you.
But I don't care anymore. I do not care at this moment about the questions you repeat, for like Kundera puts it, repetitions are boring.
Damn, I am too confident tonight! Take my hand my love, if you please. Hearts  which break were in a little too much hurry to form, you see. It's not your fault. It's not my fault.
I noted on the banks of Seine that I have vertigo. But now I am prodded to play the Kundera-game with the master himself!
My dear author, you say : "Anyone whose goal is something higher must expect some day to suffer vertigo."
What if I turn your idea upside down? What if anyone with vertigo lives with the rush of only going higher?
How will a practical you answer me? Gravity will always weigh you down!
Yes, lightness is unbearable but it is truly so only for the unbound. I have never felt the desire to be so real. For once, I truly don't care. You and your judgments are so insignificant (if that's what you are busy with at this moment).
May be I will miss out on Paris. But tell me Paris, what will you be without my love? You don't want to see yourself in my eyes when you are not bathed in love. You cannot. You my dear Paris, are so accustomed to love, aren't you? You are so habituated with all the punctuations of love that I know you will be hurt if even an ounce of this love is absent. No Paris, you are not Calcutta. You are way too sophisticated. Your chaos needs too many parameters. I am Calcutta. I am the gloom of the past that lingers along the lanes and I am the breeze that takes the stench away. I am the contradiction, dear Paris. Not you. You are way more significant than I am. But it is strangely through you that my significance becomes clearer to the ones who love me.

Thank you for the memories. There are a few repetitions we do long for.

Stupid heart, stupid me, stupid poem

Reach her O my dear poem
Reach her for only you can
I am an incapable soul tonight
Reach her, tell her where my heart resides.

Save me from these gallows of love
For I am too tired to be tried anymore
Let the dreams never wake me up again
Make my stupid heart-aches explode.

But keep her safe if you can
For you have to, if you are real
Care for her like you would
If you could for a new-born petal.

Love her with nothing but your heart
For she can take care of everything else
She is the priceless enigma, smoothest wine
Surrender;
Drink from her the magic of being high.

But why do I compose you, O useless poem of mine?
You and me are the only ones awake along with this night
But the night is lucky enough to stay by her side
As for us, we do need to hold on to each other tight.

For honesty

There's a softness around me
A tender flame of honesty
A sea with all its depth glittering
Under the Sun, waiting for evening.

What are my poems for?
Drops of precious old wine
Stored in vintage memories
Running down pages, running down time.

I want to say that I understand
I know my way around chaos;
But my knowledge blends into smoke
When there's simple truth around.

For whom are my poems meant to be?
I know not the reasons for their being;
And then why do I question my existence?
My poems, like me were meant to set you free.

Raja o Kobi

প্রশ্ন করলেন বিধাতা,
"বল, রাজা হবি না কবি?"
জন্মের আগেই confusion
Danke বলি না mercy !

কবির নাকি পাল্লা ভারী
কান্না এলেই বরফ-পাত;
 কিন্তু কঠিণ choice বড় -
যেদিকেই  যাও, রাজার হাত!

আমি বললাম রাজাই ভালো,
খ্যাঁক হাসলেন বিধাতা;
খাতায় গেলাম কবির ঘরে,
যেমন আজ যাচ্ছি অযথা।
 

Mishtimukh

মিষ্টি মুখ
ইদানিং করা হয়না;
শরীরের জন্য নাকি মিষ্টি ক্ষতিকারক;
কার শরীর?
কিরকম ক্ষতি?
আর কে-ই বা সেসবের বিচারক?

লোভ লাগছে,
সামলাচ্ছি;
কিসের দ্বিধা জানা নেই!
রক্তে আজ
ধৈর্য;
মিষ্টির কোনো শিরা নেই!

চাবুক মারে
বুকের ভেতর
ঝাল শরীরের তীক্ষ্নতা;
কাঁচা লঙ্কায়
জিব পুরিয়ে
মিষ্টি মুখের স্নিগ্ধতা।

পথিক জাগে
নিত্যনতুন
কুয়াশা ভেজা ভোরবেলায়;
 কবি-ও জাগে
আদি-অনন্ত
মিষ্টি মুখের শুন্যতায়।।

Joker der proti

বেশ করেছি,
গান ধরেছি।
রাস্তা তোমার বাপের?

নিজের খেয়ে
নিজের ছাড়ি,
নিজের-ই পকেট কেটে!

আমার কথায়
কান দিয়েছো
মন দাওনি কেন?

মনের বুঝি
অনেক দেমাক?
মন চাইতে পারো!

ভাবছো হঠাৎ
শান্ত ছেলের
এ কি হলো আবার?

আর ভেবো না,
পড়ার টেবিলে
 "উড়ন্ত সব জোকার" !
 

Biswabangali

ঠান্ডা নামিয়ে সূর্য মেঘ মুড়ি দিয়েছে;
 বরফ পড়েনি, হয়তো ভুলেই গেছে ?
এখানকার সাপেরা ঘুমিয়ে আছে,
তুমিও ঘুমাও। কে আটকেছে?

কাঠের ফাঁক দিয়ে ভেসে আসে তোমার ভাষা
যেমন মধ্যরাতে লেপের নিচে কুয়াশা
উত্তাপের আলপিন গেঁথে দিয়ে যায় দেহে
তেমনি তোমার চশমা, চিবুক গেঁথে দিয়েছে মোরে।

মন চাইনা তোমার থেকে, মনের ওজন বড়
মনের মাইনে কষতে গিয়ে হোঁচট খেতে পারো ;
তার চেয়ে বরং বাংলা ভাষায় শরীর নিয়ে খেলি
আমিও প্রেমিক, প্রেম বিলাতে বিলেত ঘুরতে জানি।

Itikatha

৭০ আর '১৭, কতটা বদলেছে তোমাদের শহর?
শহরের বুক ধুয়ে যায় মিশকালো রঙিন জলে ;
হলদে আলোয় তাপ নিচ্ছে মাঝবয়সের শেকড়
সব জল-ই গঙ্গামুখী এলোমেলো নর্দমা-তলে !

ময়দানে তারার নিচে এখনো ফ্যাকাশে মুখের ভীড়
যেন আকাশ ধরে রেখেছে প্রেমিকার ঔদার্য ;
বৃষ্টি মিথ্যে আশা দেবে ভেঙে অন্য পাখির নীড়
তাই ডিম্ পারবে নতুন প্রেম, ভাবে ক্ষুদার্থ ।

তোমার শহর আসলে তুমি আর তোমার ভেতর;
মসৃন-এর গায়ে আঁচড় দিয়ে গেছে কাঁচের কণায় ,
কবিতার আড়ালে তাই খুঁজে বেড়াও শীতের চাদর,
আজও তুমি গেয়ে চলেছো ৯০-এর 'তোমাকে চাই'।

Snan

শীতের ঘাসে শিশির পড়তে পারে,
কিন্তু সেই ঘাস বড় আলসে

রোদকে যেমন প্রশ্ন করো না কেন দেরী করলে,
ঘাসের ক্ষেত্রে human rights পায়ের তলে?

স্নিগ্দ্ধ শিশির লেপ্টে যায় জুতোর ময়লায়
ঘাস তাকেও ধারণ করে, ক্ষমতায় মানায়;

পরদিন ভোরে শিশিরেই স্নান করে ঘাস,
চলছে চলুক, সূর্য আর পায়ের সন্ত্রাস।

Juice

I am
No juicy apple
For your hungry teeth
I am dry,
Too dry
Even for winter's chill.
I blend
Among green
And fresh red chillies
But even I
Am no match
For a mirror's kiss.

I fall
For you
Each time I look at me
I wink
In awe
The glass winks for free.
You have
Heard of
Love and the high they feel
But you
Haven't seen
My mirror and me.

Golpo hobi aye

Aj jokhon swabder daam onek
Swecchay aye, golpo hobi aye.
Path haranor bhrantir khelay
Aye abar notun rasta hobi aye.

Botol bandho joler muktir
Haat hobi, nischinte aye.
Majhnodir noukor daarer
Majhrater tara hobi aye.

Je jol govire ghurni lukoy
Sei antoraler alo hobi aye.
Je chobi toke niyei anka
Sei kobitar nihswas hobi aye.

Je bhalobasha mukto hridoy
Sei bishwaser paya hobi aye;
Je daak adi-ananta prosarito
Sei swabder kona antare melay.

Surrender

You know you want to fall in love with her
You know,
As the haunting stare reaches deep into you
You know,
When the mole beneath the rainclouds winks
You know,
As the smoke slowly diffuses into a replica
Time learns
To let go and freezes in a moment of enigma.

Possession is for the fools who are but blind
Why not let your heart succumb to the sublime?
The arrows are welcome to pierce my lifeline
If the death's so sweet,
                         That a mango envies in its prime
Why then shouldn't I pray to the architect divine,
For
Wings and dreams to take you higher into the sky.

Photo credits : Femina

Love, Fish, Books and Mirrors

A lonely boy catches a fish and then sets it free. Waits. Catches another fish. Sets it free. Waits again. Another fish. Sets it free. Waits. Catches. Frees...

The boy is none other than the cook in our mess. He says that he enjoys fishing. But he doesn't like killing the fish. It's just a game for him; a game that he loves so much that he spends his entire Durga Puja doing nothing else! An intrigued me asks him, "What if you kill any fish by accident?" To this he replies, "I never eat the fish myself. I take it home and let others enjoy it."

I like this boy. He is a few years younger to me. I have a feeling he has admiration for me as well. But more than liking him, I find him curiously the most interesting person around me. There is a certain sensitivity about him; a quality that is extremely rare in today's time. What's striking about him is his simplicity. The effortlessness that he exudes doesn't make me jealous. It makes me humble. He makes me draw a parallel between our lives and those of Kanai and Fokir from Amitav Ghosh's The Hungry Tide. I can always relate to his way of being, connect to it. But then I feel a distance; a distance not between me and him but between the two 'self's of me. I become a contradiction to myself. I see that I am exactly this boy both deep down and on the surface. I also see that I am far more complex when it comes to me being the one who interacts with the world!

I have friends on the surface and am hollow deep down. This boy, devoid of friends, simply embodies the word deep. (It's a funny coincidence that my nickname happens to have the same set of letters as deep, in the same order).

It might be possible that he reminds me of my childhood; or the innocence associated with it. I have been searching for simplicity for a long time now. I have been scrutinizing the women who have claimed to be my lovers for a touch of this simplicity. I have found nothing. They have tried to mould me, design me, love me. Sadly, they really haven't been truly successful. I made them fail. I could never even explain to myself what I was looking for.

Reconciliation.

With myself. The part of me that still lurks around my being.

And now I wonder what love really is for me! Is it someone else's acceptance of my feelings? But it cannot be that shallow. I have given much more than I asked for in return. Has this nature stemmed from a guilt that I haven't really loved? But then what about those moments when I have felt so significantly insignificant? Those moments still scream at me and say that I have loved.
The answer smiles cordially. I find my simplicity in those moments. I find my naivety. Ironically, those simplicities and naiveties were temporary.

Thus I have been in alternating currents of elation and despair, while looking for a battery all throughout. Funnily enough, the heart rate monitor shows the line of peace only when the heart stops beating!

But I cannot be dead before I find my peace. Then there remains no meaning to all the fluctuations I have encountered! I took the first step when I realized that peace is all about acceptance. But who remembers the first steps anyway? May be that's why we look for someone to hold our hands and teach us to walk all over again. Yes, the partnership is important.

The fish might be set free. But the rod always stays alongside.

Land of landslides

Welcome to my country!
We serve you the best fish
Only to hide the blood beneath the dish.
We boast of oceans and mountains
Who cares about the hidden mass graves?
The slogans shout about cleanliness
Alas! Inner roads only reek of bloodstains.
Airlines cover new destinations everyday
Silence settles on morality; black and grey at play.

Welcome to my country!
It's still not in my right to be happy and gay,
Yet convicts write law sitting calmly in jail.
News, fake and real storm through film-sets
As children gobble up history in schools of shame.
Ancient land of Gods, writers and Men
My country lights candles in times of deaths;
Power not within but behind LCD frames,
Slut-shaming trolls celebrate Women's day!

Welcome to the country my friend
That believes we invented aeroplanes!
But in a country so rooted in its ignorance
Flying doesn't fit the right experience.

Sandman

I dig further into the sand
Wishing to find your source
Friction cuts through my hand
Yet the water eludes me more.

Sunburns, like wax of melting hopes
Take forms all over my skin, my soul;
Yet the digging gets deeper for the core,
Vultures far above sniff another hole.

Discoveries sadly aren't Columbus' shores
History doesn't wait for cobblers and stones
Rivers steer cleverly away from dry deserts
So does rain,
For sea is the abode of ships and thunders.

The learned man knows that the Earth is all land;
And that the mighty water is the greatest illusion
He can't thus quench his thirst playing with sand
Destiny leans into his breaths, takes him by the hand.

The River

Through my lonely town she runs
Cutting through civilizations ancient
Leaving fully fertile soil behind;
Where pests never can play a part
As the crops grow beautiful and smart.
For my river runs deep within my town
Washing all my gloom with her presence,
Her banks, still preserving my childhood;
And while the fears of her drying up rise high
She flows, in her innocence through my eyes.

Journeys

Why does my road have to lead somewhere?
He can circle himself for time immemorial...
Why has there to be answers for stolen glances?
The question that brings out her smile; ethereal.

Why should the evening not be monotonous?
For longing sews hopes in innocent desires...
Where shall the lover set his eyes if not on reflection?
For his love is imagery;  a painter's enigma.

Why shouldn't the ship sink in the calm sea?
His fights, existence, surrender are the waves
And how can a smiling heart know of another?
Smiles surf on waves, yet in her deeper chambers!

Poem

May be a poem is not worth tonight
For poems are self-obsessed shadows;
What matters tonight is a tiny speck of light
That reignites the stage for another show.

Let the poem elude me for one more time
For poems are mysterious in their folds
Trapped souls in nearby meanings; each line
Represents the fade-outs as curtains fall.

So let the lovers rekindle their love
Not in a poem, but in themselves
For poems are only misfired shells
And to be honest, quite useless.

Rajmukut

Characters :

Maharaj
Mahamantri
Chief Economist
Paharadar I
Paharadar II
Royal Bedroom Paharadar
Notun Prohori


                     **************Rajsabha*******************

Maharajer aj mukut khunje paoa jacche na
Rajsabhay tai oneker taak dekha jacche...

Maharaj : Kar eto sahosh e rajye?

Mahamantri : Apnar ghorer paharadar ta ke pakrao kore ene dhorlei hobe Maharaj! O byata nischoi jane.

Maharaj (ragoto) : Gheti dhore niye esho!


Mahamantri (anyo paharadar der dike) : Ei dhore niye aye to!

Paharadar der prosthan.

Chief Economist (CE) : Agge Maharaj eta bhebe dekha dorkar keu apnar mukut kano churi korbe.


Mahamantri : Ei buddhi niye Chief Economist hoyecho! Maharajer mukut. Tar opor kar na lobh hoy!

CE : Amar buddhi niye apnar motamot thaktei pare, tobe amay ei pod Maharaj swayong diyechen. Apni ki Maharaj er buddhi ke akraman kore felchen na?

Maharaj : aaah! thak esob ekhon. Jokhoni pare ei duto lege pore. Tobe Chief tomar ki mone hoy kano churi korte chay keu?

CE : Dekhun Maharaj, amar to mone hocche keu thatta korar janyoi koreche. Nichhok yarki aarki..

Mahamantri : Nichhok? Maharaj er ghor theke mukut churi korbe chhok na kore?

CE : Ta kano? Mane...

Maharaj (interrupting) : Ki abar mane! Ekbar dhori byata ke! City center e ulto tangiye pyadabo!

Paharadar der probesh, sathe royal bedroom er paharadar-er gheti te haat.

 Paharadar I : Ei nin Maharaj! Ekdom dhore niye eshechi.

(Royal bedroom paharadar ke maharajer dike chure egiye deoya holo)

Royal Bedroom Paharadar (RBP): Dhore enechis abar bolchis? Eta gheti! Ghetto noy je lal kore dibi!

Mahamantri : Chop! Maharajer mukut paoa jacche na janis na? Bol kothay rekhechis?

RBP : O tai bujhi ei byata gulo amar mukut tao fele dilo matha theke?

Maharaj : Beshi katha na bole mukut ta kothay seta bolo.

RBP : Ota to apnar ghorer bairei pore ache, Maharaj.

Sobai eksathe (Maharaj bade): Hay hay! Mukut mati te! Ei ja ja tule an.

Sob Paharadar der prosthan.

 Mahamantri : Ki beakkele prohori bolun to Maharaj! Mukut pore ache r se janay ni kauke? Tuleo rakheni?

CE : Seki! Maharaj er mukut-e haat debe? Tahole pran jabe na? O to thiki koreche!

Maharaj matha nere sammati dilen.

Mahamantri : Se bole kauke janabe na? Khobor pathabe na?

CE : Na na. Ta hole sobai jene jabe je mukut mati te! Maharajer samman er katha bhebei kauke janayni. Ki buddhi prohorir! Mahamantri ja bhabenni setai bhebe fele thik podokkhep-o niyeche!

Mahamantri ragoto CE-er dike egotei...

Maharaj : Ah! Abar shuru korecho Chief? Kathay kathay khota deoyar abhyesh ta paltao noile...

Paharadar der punohprobesh:

Pahadar II ( Prohorir mukut Maharajer dike egiye diye) : Dekhun Maharaj eta pore chilo!

Maharaj (rege) : Byata! Thatta amar sathe.

RBP ke koshiye ek chor!

RBP (Kandte kandte) : Ami ki korlam!

Maharaj : Toke tor mukut kothay poreche jiggesh korechilam naki?

RBP : Seta porishkar kore bolechen keu? Amar mukut fele dilo bollam r tarpor i jiggesh korlen mukut kothay...

Maharaj (CE-er dike) : Er buddhir dhak petacchile na tumi? Ebar er to chakri jabe. Seta tumi korbe.

Maharaj (RBP-er dike) : Ore AMAR mukut ta kothay?@!?

RBP : Ta apnar mukut apni janen!

Mahamantri (RBP-er dike) : Ei! Toke ulto juliye kelano hobe! Byata mukut chor!

RBP : Ki? Mukut chor? Kar mukut churi korechi?

Maharaj : Kar abar? Amar!

RBP (heshe) : Apnar mukut keu kano churi korbe?

Mahamantri (CE-er dike) : Nao ekhon eke bojhao kano Maharaj-er mukut keu churi korbe!

CE : Ei prosno to amaro chilo.

Mahamantri : Uttor to tomay deoya holo! Er madhyei bhule gele naki?

CE : Seta to ami bujhtei parlam na! Amar to lobh hoy na Maharaj-er mukute.

Mahamantri : Kano hoy na?

CE : E abar kamon katha? Apni bolun kano lobh hobe! Apnar hoy naki?

Maharaj : Tham byata! Abar khota dicchis?

CE : Kiser khota? Apni nijei bolun to kano apnar mukute lobh hobe?

Maharaj : Rajar mukut! Hobe na?

CE : Churi kore chor ota diye korbe ki? Kauke to bechte parbe na. Becha chere din, bolteo parbe na! Anyo deshe apnar mukut bikri korar janyo border perote hobe. Sekhane apnar mukut niye kora nojordari-o to thakbe!

Mahamantri : Nijei na bolle ektu age je Maharaj-er mukut mati te poreche setai keu janle Maharaj-er apoman. R ekhon bolcho Mukut churi hoyeche seta samasta rajye chaur kore dite! Maharaj, ami nischit e nischoi anyo rajyer char!

CE : Besh to tahole r ki! Khonj na niye chor ke chorer moto charun! Ja korar koruk ge mukut niye! Apni arekta replica baniye nin borong Maharaj!

Maharaj : Replica? Amar mathay replica? Tomar jib tene chire fele debo he!

Notun Prohorir probesh.

Notun Prohori (haate tholi) : Maharaj aste pari?

Maharaj : Eshe bolchis aste pari? Sob kota ke bidaay korbo ebar! Chatar rajya!

Notun Prohori : Agge choto Maharani amay druto apnar kache pathalen. Special permission diye pathiyechen jate soja dhuke jete pari...

Maharaj : Seki? Tar abar ki holo?

Notun Prohori (tholi dekhiye) : Uni bollen kal raate apni eta fele eshechen onar ghore)

Maharaj tholi theke Mukut ber korlen. Payrar palok lagano ekta pagri.

Maharaj (ragoto Notun Prohorir dike) : Eta uni kal raatre pathan ni kano?

Notun prohori : Ta to ami jiggesh korini Maharaj.

Mahamantri : Maharaj shanto hon. Maharani apnar sathe ektu nichhok moja korechen r ki.

Maharaj : Hmm. Tai hobe. Ha ha ha ha. Jak Mahamantri, mukut paoar anande aj tomader chuti. Kal theke sobai nijer nijer kaje chole esho.Ekhon Tofat jao Tofat jao Tofat jao.

                     *****************CURTAINS****************

Hey Nari

Amar jibon tomrai bhoriye tulecho. Tomaderi adhikar sudhu amar opor.
Tai tomaderi janyo...


Hey nari,
Amar randhre randhre,
Rokte, nihswas e tomari abirbhab;
Tomari murti gore uthche
Nityo notun, agnibha surjodoye.
Mayar poshom, tomar sparsha
Jeno mithe jamrul, harano sur
Bheshe ashe batasher konay konay.

Amar otha nama, gore tola,
Bhangoner protighater dola,
Satyi mithyer gondi perono khela;
Tumii amar math, triner ahswas
Ghorshone rangiyechi tomar dirghoswas
Tomar ramdhonu, barshar purbabhas
Tomatei bileen ei agneogirir nihswas.

Hey nari,
Jekhane samasta mishe jay samasta-e
Sei andharer alo tumi,
Sei aloy amay mishiyecho aj ebhabe
R je firte parbo na ami chena achenay;
Thakte dao mukto ei sudur sunyotay
Fire esho, amake pabe thik ei alochayay.

Uttor, aj uttor nei

ভেজা তুলোয় মুখের এ রং ফ্যাকাশে হলো  কি না?
স্বব্দের ছক ভেঙে গুটি পকেটে পড়লো কি না?
উত্তর, আজ উত্তর নেই বন্ধ ঘরে মুখ লুকোনো খাট
চোরা নদীর স্রোতের মরীচিকায় শুধু পুড়েছে হাত।

কেন বলে দাও আমায়, কেন বলো না আমায়?
জোনাকির স্নিগ্ধতা খুঁজে ফের কেন এ ভোরবেলায়?

রেখো না এ বালুচরে ফল্গুর কোনো আশা
টিমটিমিয়ে জ্বলছে কোথাও ভবিষ্যতের চাষা
মোমবাতির ঘাম জমেছে, আগুন নিভতে যায়
রাজার বেড়াল পোষ মেনেছে, ইলেকট্রিসিটি খায়।

কেন বলে দাও আমায়, কেন বলো না আমায়?
কলমের মুখে কথাগুলো কেন বাষ্প হয়ে যায়?

To you asshole

I do not write for you. I do not spend my time hitting these buttons on my favourite machine in order to gain some fucking reader's sympathy. No. Every second spent on these little pieces on my blog is for myself. I think and I write. I do not think and write. I eat and write. I work and write. I fantasize and write. I lie and write. I confess and I write. And then you arrive. Nobody knows from which shit canal do you come with your stink and lay your waste on my blog. I feel no empathy for you as a reader. I feel no hatred. I feel nothing. Everytime I shit here, you develop those marvelous wings!
There'a very funny thing about being a writer. He gives no shit at times. Yet you would still come flocking with all your senses. Fuck your senses.
Whoever you are, going through this garbage at this moment, really how jobless can you be? There is no new world in someone else's words. Your world, my world, their world are all the same dystopian reality that you refuse to wake up to. The game is over. There is no writer here who will tell you princess stories, dragon stories or give you life lessons. He is no story teller. He isn't telling you who he is either. Only a fool in a fool's paradise thinks that a writer hides behind his words. No he doesn't. He hides in himself. And he sees through you.
While reading this if you do feel like replying, fuck you. I don't give a damn about your opinion. I don't care what you like and what you don't. Nothing matters you see. There are only two truths about me : the good and the bad. The good adjusts with you. You adjust with the bad.

So best, fuck off.

And there is no frustration pointing towards you. I just don't care. Have some sense to keep your opinion to yourself. I repeat, fuck off.

Forgotten Breeze

And when the days feel numbered
In the dusty obedient time crystals,
You arrive like ripples of the shore
With touch of the warm and the cold;
Sand underneath, careless grains of gold
Like a known history or a prophecy untold
You are the only young reason for the old.

My tiny heart and the universe it holds
Learn to expand each time I behold
The simplicity with which you've written
How these mysteries should unfold...

May answers never arrive at my doorsteps
May the boat keep floating through the night
May the guiding light never play hide and seek
That is, given its nature if at all it decides to peek
But who am I in this already bent space-time?
How at all will then my innocent ride make its flight?

May you keep reminding me that I am alive
May you keep returning, my forgotten breeze.

Undertaker's Bay

Dark, foreboding clouds gather on the horizon

As the ship steals its way through the moonlit haze

Winds, like cold steel daggers circle the Orion

Sails prepare for onslaught, amateur hands on deck.

The musician starts strumming way up in the mast

An island, an Oasis for the navigators of the black

And a symphony of disorganized optimism greets the wind

The Pole star has long vanished, rain descends on faith.

Whirlpools and werewolves sync to the crescendo

Gods, in Angels' attire play actors in a stage of floating time

As raindrops burn red, yellow, purple and white; 

O! Where do loyalty, belief, data and signatures lie?

While the tempest leads the ship to the eye of creation

Some hands leave the steering for a blindfold game.

In the darkest nosedives are the stories dug out,

The treasure resides beneath the Undertaker's Bay.

Chotushkon

Kobitar angti khule rekhechi porar table e
Jekhane sesh sokaler hawa pardar gaye
Prothom premikar alto romoniyotay haray;
Robibar dupurer khaoar dour je bakshe bondi
Sei table ei tar sthan, jeno shikaroktir stup
Hothat ghono megher gorjone nababarshar ingit.

Bicched hoyeche moner, samay er, kolomer
Sathe mathe hariye asha sobuj cambis ball er
Shunye urechilo bat er aghate, urecho tumio pore;
Chilekothar dhare, ulto diker railing ghyasha prantore
Jedik theke Pujor bajna bheshe esheche baruder taane
Sekhanei hoyto cassette rewind er tar ekhono lukiye.

Sedin pora hoyni, jemon ajker angti sei brityer proteek
Jodio boi, khata, pencil, eraser, sharpener choturdik
Ghire chilo Milo-r booklet e unki mara agamir fnaaki;
Raja, mantri, gaja aar gamini; tobe seshmeshe opore Rani
Sob juddher gondi sei table er gondi kei mene choleche aj-o
Aar tumi bhebechile, bisarjon dilei prithibi hobe chouko!

Kolkata, sleep my Lady.

This is my city; a city suffering from insomnia;
For the events she witnessed have cast a shadow
Over her. Her dreams burn every night among
Street lights; only nightmares flow through her
Broken, dusty roads; Only for the rain to hide the marks.
This is the city where my father played a part
In a theater which still reverberates in history's failures;
His nostrils still rich in pheromones of the gunpowder
Which ate through pages, lives, truth and morals.
In your slumber, my city still waits for an answer.

Flyovers hide beneath them chess pieces, trapped
In the pile of cases, the answers sink deeper into abyss.
Lovers, like misplaced cartons of milk; crimsoned
Along the tracks by the kingdom's escapism, still cry out.
And you keep trying to justify where mystification failed
The hole you dig gets deeper with each lie; But who cares?
Promises, like broken records have long succumbed to the past.
So why not let my city sleep for she has endured for long!
What justice can we ever do to her desires! And when will we
Wake up? For in that moment, time will leave her alone!

Mahashunyer paak

Jol er balti, ki ashanti thanda boro aj
Didimonir naak bekeche, kuchki te awaj!
Hirer angti, parar nengti korche tamasha
Lyangra cheler baddho kole Ronaldo messiah!
Wrong route e cholche gari, bhasche duniya
Prem piriter chokka ludoy naam bolchi na.

Basor raate tashor bajay pukur pare ke?
Devdas ke bhoy peye je sona monir be!
Raater tara, gobechara lonthone tei thai
Alokborsho kolkoliye mahasunyer dhnai.
Cha er gelas, kumro potash bhabche horir luth
Bhebei klanto, abolakanto muchte galo mukh.

Amar tomar premer khatay porche kalir daag
Sei kali tei mukh porabe emni tomar raag
Raager kathai uthlo jokhon gaan geyona aar
Swarolipir bnaake bnaake moni amar har!
Tai to boli, o mamoni mithye katha thak
Prem ei jokhon habudubu, mari arek paak!

Decay

Decay;
Through the branches of truth and desire,
The lonely eyes which search for solace
Leave a stench through time; A game of lies
And dies; the Sun roasts the leaves of cries
The amalgamate, the alloy of eternity; Decay.

Underneath your skin, it flows through the vessels
Igniting even the most singular of deformities
Within you; your soul, helplessly poor in the racism
Of companionship, champions in misery; Decay.

What, I wonder today is a decay?
For everything eternal, speaks but
Of the one and only  truth; the Circle.
Or does there too wait just another coating
Another peel, entangled in self similarity?
Is it then a shadow game of concentric circles?
Or is there an unending decay waiting to happen?

But if not a decay, if not a decay
How much mystery does a pyramid detain?

A Homage to the Faded Yellow

To all the faded yellow of my stories,
A song floats backwards in full glory
Fitting along the lines to ease the misery
For the faded part is love, yellow being me.

Sounds similar to the tunes of long past notify
My screen as a new evening dawns beneath the sky
In a land where dusk never really settles,
Fairytales, like a water cannon drench me in Sunlight.

Like a matchstick that burns more than its peers
Like a woman who shines over an indistinguishable chorus
Like a raindrop that evaporates before hitting the tar
Like a traveler who remains in each destination forever ...

You are that moment which weighs more than any souvenir.

Dividend, Divisors and Remainders

What remains of an evening which comes but late at night?
What happens to a cloud-covered glorious star riddled sky?
Which tune does the cool breeze hum as silence settles on eyes?
Why does the Sun run faster here? What will remain of its light?

For those who are rich in their possession of time
Must know that time lies, like every other beautiful line
Like a poet who unabashedly demands a reader's loyalty
But refuses the same in return lest truth descends on eyes.

And what remains of the poet when the evening arrives for him
With a wind so chilling that he dare not stand by the window?
He leaves the world to itself, for to each world its own;
A fish struggles with the bait until it's the string or the neck.

SO WHAT REMAINS?

Piku lessons

The language of films is crazy. The more subtle the shot is, the greater is its impact. Take for example, Piku. The central theme of the storyline is constipation. Right at the end, when the family doctor tells Piku (Deepika) that Syed (Jisshu) might also suffer from the same ailment, the whole context of constipation becomes clear. Rana (Irfan) speaks easy, works easy and shits easy.
Constipation in the film isn't a pun anymore. Constipation in Piku means Personality.
Interestingly, just as Amitabh enjoys his motion right at the end after suffering troubled bowel movement, I as an audience enjoy the timing of this subtlety! The film itself takes the course of its own constipation by choice only to reveal at the end what easy shitting feels like.
Does this subtlety change my life in any way? No, it doesn't. But it does exactly what it set out to do. It entertains me. It entertained me through the story at first. Then it entertained me through the performances and music. Now it entertains me by revealing its subtext. It is when the language of shots reach the audience, a film reaches its entirety.
I watched two movies today. One (Alien : Covenant) dealt with the everlasting question of what the purpose of human beings is in this universe and the other deals with the answer of this question. To shit freely! 
I wonder, as a human being, what really is my purpose or duty! No matter whether we think of ourselves as special or don't think at all, we are going to remain insignificant in the bigger scheme of things. Yes, we love to create. Whether that be a piece of biscuit or a piece of a space-suit or an epic or another human being, it is the fuel of creation that drives humanity. Even though I say we are insignificant in the larger frame, nothing can ever be greater in magnitude or longevity than human greed!
We covered the Earth with ourselves. May be we will cover the entire universe too. And then? Where will the future humans fit their greed when there is no space left? Well, they will fit it in themselves.
I wonder how deep we human beings are. We can bury our desires, anger, greed, love, knowledge all inside us and choose never to open those pages again!
The universe that you supposedly live in is smaller than you. And yet you search for your purpose in the outer universe!
My dear mankind, may be flying isn't the answer and diving is.
And you dive every time you sleep, every time you cut yourself off from the universe you see.
May be that's the only thing left for us to do. Sleep. Peacefully.

And the next morning the shit will be dope!

Tunnels

Deep beneath the network of roots,
Bedrocks of suffocated nutrition
Lie the tunnels; treacherous, mysterious
Encircling themselves into an abyss
Where the truth takes shelter from the Sun
Only to be dug out in search of power.

Encompassed in a whirlwind of smoke
Where heat builds pressure with every thrust
These tunnels wake up again; sinister
In their ambition, possession, decision
To cradle the truth once more into oblivion
Only for the exhaust to release it into thin air.

And this is the air you breathe, intoxicating
In its vice-like grip, it blends into your blood
Thus are born the tunnels again; veins of mistrust
Changing colours from blue to grey to green
Slowly sinking the weight deep into the recess of the mind
O Human! Your truth is no longer meant to shine.

Communication Breakdown

The steak melted beneath his tongue and shut out the light. Real pleasures have always had this peculiar love affair with darkness. Rahul opened his eyes with the taste still lurking teasingly inside him. He took a sip of wine and let it run all around his mouth.

Tom : I have never seen anyone enjoy beef as much as you do!

Rahul : Yeah, I am a religious brahmin after all!

Tom : What's a brahmin?

Rahul : Oh that's just the Indian for hypocrite.

Tom : Why do you call yourself a hypocrite? I don't think you are one.

Rahul : I am not a hypocrite by action. I was born into it.

Tom : Dude, are you fucking with me on a beautiful Saturday morning?

Rahul : Absolutely not. I am teaching you about my country.

Tom : Okay. So can you explain how you are a hypocrite?

Rahul : No, I can't.

Tom made a face which made Rahul smirk.

Tom : What? You don't have anything to say and you're trying to act smart.

Rahul : Exactly. There's your answer.

Tom : How does Stella deal with you?

Rahul : Well, you really don't want to know.

Tom : Okay, but can you please explain your beef thing?

Rahul : It was sarcasm, Tom. India scans cow retinas.

Tom : What?

Rahul : Yes. A section, which our media calls "the majority", considers cows to be sacred. So you commit blasphemy when you have beef.

Tom : But isn't India one of the largest exporters of beef?

Rahul : Your facts are right and wrong. We are the joint largest beef exporters. But we export a lot of buffalo meat. I'm sure some cows slip in once in a while.

Tom : But you Indians don't get to eat it?

Rahul : For centuries now, my dear friend, India is happily sacrificing for the West.

Tom : What bullshit!

Rahul : No no. The shit stays there. The meat doesn't.

Tom : I get your point now.

Rahul : Stella gets me faster. That's how she deals with me.

Tom : So your religion asks you not to eat cows? Holy shit! Stays in India...

Rahul : I don't know. I had no idea religion could communicate.

Tom : You know what I mean...

Rahul : But do you?

Tom (annoyed) : Not again, please.

Rahul (smiling) : Yeah. This is what religion does. Communication Breakdown.

Cannibal

Rising flames are what you have been

Insatiable hunger simply trying to feed

Of me; Your tentacles gripping underneath

My soul, waiting to finish me off for eternity!

But O fool! I am your lust reborn

Running and exhausting myself

Along the track marks left by your neurons

And round and round we go until I'm done.

So kill me now and kill me again

I am the undead that you kill every Fall

Bathe the ashes in a disguise of camphor

And the camphor will turn into ash once more.

Bhalo koira baajao go dotara, sundori komola naache!

Deep in a forest where roots feed on lies

Where darkness hasn't touched penetrating light

Resides a pond of unforgiving hyacinth

Where some creatures by birth feed on parasites.

And that forest lies deep underneath my skin

Through each of these veins the hyacinths breathe 

As hatred digs deeper with its roots everyday

Your love is way too thick for the cannibal's teeth.

Taarer Shahor

Knata taar bnidhe ache podoksheper ranga aabhay
Swapner basa jekhane proti muhurte dhulishyat hoy
Sei shahorer boi er dokane ui dhora amar itihash
Jar mrityur ekmatro karon, jiboner nityonotun aghat.

Amar e shahor taar er shahor; boro priyo
Akash dhakte pare je taar er hingsro jongol
Nihswas rodh kore pran niye je lofalufi kore
Sei taar ei lata hoye beye othar prochesta antore.

Prarthana puroner bhagabanra kothao chole gechen
Hariye geche jogyer agune ghee e bheja pandulipi
Norom chamray gorom joler chnekar daag nei aj
Mishe geche mithyer saday satyir kalor gunaboli.

Bhrantir Neshay

Amar raat haway mishe jay
Jeno dudh aar nabajataker hriday
Sei hawar chnoya eshe lage
Unki jhnuki poloker dorgoray;
Nihsabde dorjay pa baray balika
Cycle ghontay prohor periye jay.

Bondhura porche hoyto porikkhar bhoye
Shirar taane akkhor; balok onker patay
Milche na hiseb, pache x minus beroy
Hay re! Milbe na aj, jed dhoreche bhrantir neshay.

Balcony; Chithi; Uttor; madokiyo prosroy
Haater lekha, banan bhul, bhoyer abhipray
Kolomer gaach, kalir doyat kichui agamir noy
Tai kobita gore uthche; bhrantir neshay.

Is this how it is?

It is
How a sugar grain slowly dissolves in water
How an idea reveals itself to an honest, lost creator;
How a window pane kisses the breeze after a decade
How sleep descends on heavy eye lids with confidence.

It is
How the world amazes itself through the ways it spins
How every prologue learns to wait until it begins
How the first strumming resonates with the being
How sunshine instills hope over a dark monsoon morning.

May be this is how the green grass feels
After the final battle in the Gladiator's dream
As a full moon glides over the sea-side evening
May be this is how the white sand breathes.

Where error errs : Women

As you must know, every woman is a miracle. Women truly have completed me. They have given me life, sex and death. Really, what else is there to existence? To be honest, life would be so much of a tragedy without the tragedies. I would never have truly understood relativity. Length, you see, is a relative parameter (large or small). It depends upon the observer; on what she has observed till then. Funnily enough, the same statement can be made about intellect.
Moving on, I wonder how much time does a man devote to think about labor pain. Men, as you women like to say, are assholes. We surely don't empathize a lot with women. For example, we don't understand how it feels when an asshole leaves a woman for a younger /sexier / prettier one. Would it feel the same when a woman leaves a man for an older/fitter/richer one? But how would I know? I have only been loved; and fucked; and fucked up.
I thank women for all the muscles that I have on me and all the fat that I have lost. Oh wait! Where are the muscles? Sorry, that was me trying to show off. I thank women for all the fat I have lost. My fat got so ashamed, so ashamed of existence that food actually left me. But I am not a fat kid anymore. So that should be celebrated.
Truly, women. You brought me up. I am indebted to you. It's only because of you that I have grown up today. What an empowering feeling it is, isn't it; to be able to see through a person? To know that hope is irrelevant? To realize that innocence is a hit-me toy, meant only for the kids! Kids must grow up, right?
Yes, women. You have completed me. I am finally a man in every sense of the word. The boy has his own middle finger up his ass.

May you make more men out of boys. May you be empowered. Fuck gender equality. Men are weak. You deserve to rule. So show us the light.

But isn't it too dark down there?

Away from the ridge

Seasons, like pages of a romantic horror novel,

Turn yellow over the green, as white turns on black

A city has grown on me and outgrown itself

Lanes, sickles and vehicles crumple into voids of fame.

You would listen to me when surrounding waterfalls

Would cascade into a myth about long lost butterflies;

In an evening, which drenches itself in search of an alibi

Each raindrop will belong to you, each would be mine.

And thus in such a world where realities cease to exist

I roam around, free, of you and me, of monotonous creeks.

The moon shines pleasantly, with a hot-spot over the ridge

The spot might be a volcano for all I know; who gives a shit?

Political or not?

What is Polity? It is a form of civil government. It is a noun. It also refers to a constitution. It can be regarded as a reflection of organized society. It is basically, in other words (more suited for the commoner), a set of policies to dictate the lives of a collection of individuals. Loosely speaking, Polity is a consensus.
So here comes the question.
What does it mean to be a citizen? A citizen votes. But what does he vote for? Is it for the rule of the land? Is it for an ideology? Is it for lethargy? Or is it for individualism?
Let us then analyze each of these issues.

Rule of the land : Land is not merely the piece of earth which is surrounded by water on all sides. Land, in the present world is surrounded by lines. Unlike water which is a physical quantity, lines are imaginary. So does it naturally establish the fact that we are only living in a make-believe world? Are we?
Let's ponder for a while on what these lines are. To a large extent, these lines represent what can be called "consensus" (conning of the senses?). So when a line is drawn on a piece of paper, a modern day land comes into existence. Now each land has its own laws (and in-laws!). Stretching my jugglery a bit further, one might then ask, what about the outlaws? More on this later.
When an election takes place it asks the citizens within the respective lines to give their "opinion". Now what is opinion? Here comes the clash. Opinion represents individualism. The process of voting at least on the surface (or actually inherently) respects "diversity". Then as the government arrives in the scene, it makes or upholds the laws; laws for the society, laws for the common, laws for one, laws for all! No matter how novel the idea of an election is, a deeper thought provokes the question of how fragile the concept actually might be.

Ideology : First and foremost : Idea.
Ideology is the study of ideas. Like any study, it is a research. Shouldn't then the question arise, is an ideology just something a person believes in? The way I would like to proceed on this is the following : Ideology is a set of thoughts, a collection of information that requires processing. So when a citizen is fed certain sets of issues, he has the choice of being rational and analytical. Normally, various groups present their points of view (which we loosely call ideologies). But a "political party" has got nothing to do with ideology. It might have everything to do with ideas though. So again, when we talk of ideology, it is about the research that an individual has to ultimately perform, provided with the data sets of ideas. These ideas mainly deal with the issues of the society (and hence the collection). But when you cast your vote, you are supposedly publishing your research.

Lethargy : The central idea of an election process is about choosing a representative. The natural selection process deals with the thought process of whether a candidate is good enough for the job or not. We generally criticize the representatives we choose. These people are supposed to take care of each and every "societal" problem. So we choose an individual to work for the collective. Doesn't this represent lethargy in its purest form? If ultimately, the power of decision lies not in a referendum but with an individual, how is it fundamentally different from monarchy? May be an election is an example of the most collective lethargy of individuals.

Individualism : I vote because I have the power to vote. I select because I have the power to select. I criticize because I have the power to criticize. I condemn because I have the power. But why do I agree? Does my agreement stem from logic or does it stem from the above three points? A religious society is much less individualistic than a scientific one. Why? Is this the thin line between arts and science? Religion is philosophy. It renders itself open to interpretation. Surely it incorporates a few scientific nuances here and here. But it strives to jump above logic. Sadly, the universe is built on logic. 0 and 1. This is where art differs. It speaks of the continuum, the hidden grey.
On the other hand, science is based on logic. One cannot interpret science.

Religion can be established. Science has to be proven. Science is the perfect outlaw.

So the basic question is, can a person be apolitical? Yes, only if he is bereft of senses or if he has been truly incorporated in the con-sensus.

Anyone else is political.

Nodi

Je nodi grisma, sheet na mene
Shukiyei thake,
Tar chor-e basante ghor ke badhe?
Sei nodir-o naki jol chilo shona jay
Itihasher khanikay,
Aj-o ache; tobe baspo r ke dekhte pay?

Dui kul-e ghor bnedheche koto asankhya jatri
Epar oparer cholachole tar buke bnidheche setu
Tobe barshay nodir chokher joler astitwa ki?
Je nouka dar-er chnoyay ekhono bnachiye rakhe take
Sei noukai bojhe nodi-o tar motoi shukno anyo golpo
Tai shotosahasrya barsha nouka nodir kachei raat pohay.

Greenpeace

The tree wants to lie down
But the soil remains hard
For centuries the humid wind has teased
The leaves, one by one,
Have succumbed in disgrace, distress
Long has been the wait for rain.

The roots have believed, they have no thirst
The stem loses shame, loses its bark
Branches break away angrily in vain
Flowers, last, have migrated long ago
The life inside burns in the sepulcher of hopes
The moist soil looms over the horizon of smoke.

So save the tree, for it still is alive.
Be human, or to life, be divine
Whisper to the wound, don't be shy
With each drop of loss, a clot must arrive.

So let the tree live, the shade might be fine
Touch, feel and connect the blurred lines.

Spring's breeze

If this is what spring was all about
Then thousand winters are worthwhile;
For the breeze that drenches me in love
Carries signature of the long hidden eyes.

I am able to see in darkness again,
Able to again lose myself
                       in deep dark fortress
 Where a flicker of hope winks
And today I dream to take your hand
And pull you close to this mad mess.
The poet has finally met the insane breeze
The one that cries, hurts, cares and kills.

If this, my wonder, is Spring
How glad I am to rest in peace
If this, O bird, is the breeze
May the bard live forever in me.

Ek phnota basanta

Shunechilam mishtir dokaner gondhe acho tumi
Rastar more jekhane lebu jol aar fuchkar prem
Rong chota rickshaw jokhon sandhyer bikele klanti
Dersho bochorer bari; footpath-er samudre sale.

Tor abhijoger brishti nemeche kajol-er rekhay
Sheet-er ahonkar hnete perono basanter patay
Churno hoyeche; agamir daag  holuder saday
Camera, chosma, alo harache haatghorir katay.

Samay palay nihsabde nijer paray,
Gondir ghori abar tor mon bholay
Katha furoy praktan kono kalir khatay,
Kobi ankray tilottoma; sekorer taronay.

Tara

Shekol dwar-e nei, porda besamal
Puber hawa thanda chnoya diye jay
Majhraater akash jagiye rakhe kake
Chonnochara kichu jotsna megher kole.

Raat bole ami eka noi agunti tarar srote
Aro naki lokkho koti pran ei andhare jege
Ache; Ashole sob agun er moto oto jol nei
Brahmando, shorir ba anyo kono jongole.

Tai dabanole purte hobe aro onek pata ke
Chai hoye bhese berabe shunyer akashe
Ar hothat kono nishthur brishti majhrate
Sei satya keo dhuye debe; ghumer ahonkare.

Deshlai

Gobhire jete kotojon pare, ami jani na
Jante chai na;
Rokte mishe taan diye thaki tomar shiray;
Je chnoyar chnyaka chokhe, thnote, dehe
Baspo koreche ajosro sheetal abhiman,
Take aswikar koro; shikarir maya bemanan.

Shorir atma chene na, mangshei tar shuddhi
Eke oporer deshlai-e sob mukti royeche bandi
Bish chutche uposhiray, niyoti khunjche fondi
Rokto goray majhrastay, brishti chatche gondi.

Ke?

Firecho sandhye bela,
Haat ghori bondho; tumi klanto.
Fyakashe mukh, kuo tola
Shat watt-er alo; monder bhalo.

Ke ghure beray jekhane sandhye name gacher tolay


Rastay bhase addar slogan
Pressure cooker; baspo saradiner gham
Payer patay chapa pore pata
Deoyal perole bagan; tomar snan.

Ke bhase shunye jekhane jotsna juroy puber haway


Dure ghonta; elo bujhi raat
Porda ore radior pashe, kothay doyat?
Kolome kagoje abar hariyecho haat
Janlay unki, chande taray jomjomat.

Obelay chirokal ke aandhar namay tomar paray

Loadshedding-er gobhire tumi shei eka
Jerom eka jomjomat rastar ajosro kona
Momer shikhay jorano potonger lipikatha
Brishti name, muche jay somosto rekha.

Ke boshe ache aynar mukhomukhi tomar kobitay

Ke ghure beray jekhane sandhye name gacher tolay
Ke bhase shunye jekhane jotsna juroy puber haway
Obelay chirokal ke aandhar namay tomar paray
Ke boshe thake aynar mukhomukhi tomar kobitay?
 

Bhoy

Chul poripati poribeshthito kopal prangone
Tar drishti poloke amar chnoya niye udhao
Kobita lekhar chhoke protikkha porer poloker
Tomar byasto gobhirota, amar premik-swatya.

Sokal theke bohubar bhoy ankre dhoreche amay
Tumi uthle, namle, norle, takale; ami asohay!
Rasta periye cholechi dujone mukhomukhi asamaye
Tomar chokher theke adou sorle tobei thonter abhipray.

Bhabchi tomay boli je tomar chokher gobhire harate chai
Bhabchi tumi hasbe, obak hobe aar mone rakhbe chirokal
Tomar kopale hariye bhabi, naak jeno basanter jongoler tia
Jodi sahosh ashe ektibar, tomay kache niye bhoy hoye jetam.

Locus

Like an image that slowly comes into focus,
Like a bird brushing its beak along the grass
Like a highland river approaching the ocean
You, a memory, scattering through the locus!

Like the blue, enveloping my white
You burn yourself and make it bright.
Like a cold, clumsy, disturbed night
You, an annoying knot, tied too tight!

Like an aftermath of extreme bleeding
You lie deep, delicate decade old sting.
A cruel slumber in insomniac's dream
You, a poem, searching for its being.

Naam tar Alps

Borof paaye mekhechi, dana bisarjon aj
Thanda tor proshwase ei buker barlo kaj
Ki jeno tor naam, tor bhumikomper banan?
Kon nodi tor buke, korche compass besamal!
Kon pakhi boshe tor thonte, holud ahonkar;
Kiser nesha laglo chokhe, kon govir khaad!
Kothay dorir pnajore janina legeche taan,
Kon rothe ke jane aj icche hoyeche sawar.
Kon megher tale rock-er shera beat achomka
Kon bikele alor unki mone porabe na premika?
Kon ronge sada misheche neel-e, samay-er aanch
Aj kon pahare bol likhbo amar naam, amar gaan?

Tuli

Sandhye name chokher ek kone
Je chokh thonter bnaker paharay;
Jhnapsa prosroy tar majhraater gaan
Shei raatei pushchi prem; biday ahonkar.

Kopaler bhaje chuler bayna; sparsho.
Hashir chhole haat muchechi, madhyakorshon.
Urte shikhlam aanguler chnoyay; kaktaliyo
Chosma ghera chuler dheu-e kiser niyontron?

Kobir khatay kolomer stup to jombei
Akkhor khuje nish nijer aynar knache;
Jodi golper sandhan pash patar pora daage
Rong tuli rakha ache, back-cover er pashe.

Ek je chilo ghum

Aj lekha nei sathe, majhrate
Amar ekgheyemi te klanto se,
Ghumiye poreche balish chepe
Bhabchi tai tui kano achis jege!

Ache sathe duto adh-bhora joler botol
Ache ceiling e alor artistic gondogol
Aar gayoker joma kichu bulir hottogol
Jate nayikar dulche matha, nayak roshatol.

Tor jege thaka chintabrindo hnechei byakul
Bhabche, kothay khelna; kothay thnoter chul!
Aar je chokher naame dami hocche anyo bhul
Sei hiseber khata tukro hoye urche, kaaner dul.

Shei chotto golokei unki mare ashimer palok
Jar hariye jaoatei jutche mukh bhejano padok
Sathe urche chitronatyo, agamir dana jhaptanor
Sabdo haracche mane, dhire; premik? kobi? Nabalok!

Take your name

Should I take your name?
In my poems for myself,
In the songs I sing nowadays,
In the fields of afternoon rays
     Should I, should I take your name?

Should I start to talk of you?
When the bells ring over my head,
When rain falls lovingly on my face,
When sound slowly cares for silence
     Should I, should I take your name?

The leaves groove to the music today
Your banks welcome the silking ripples
Evening resides far away, near the bay
Tell me, O my riverside dream of the day
      Will you know if I take your name?

I am just a star towards the center
Giving out light through each corner
Diffusing through this lonely atmosphere,
It's your name that happens to appear.

So should I , could I take your name?
Or let my dreams just slip away?

Abdar

Raater notun bayna ajkal
Kolomer dam mitiye bole kobita koi?
Ghono kuashay ei kothin abdar
Na rekhe jai kothay, tthan pai kothay?

Sohoj abdarer mulyo alochona noy
Abdarer ache shirar gobhire prosroy
Rokter srote tai anoboroto bhese beray;
Tai prosno rekhe cholo, jedike icche hoy.

Dikbhranto hole lighter jwele niyo
Dhnoar gondhe hoyto kauke pabe khunje;
Kiser tahole aar ei andhokar ke bhoy?
Raater abdar dekhbe raater alo-tei furoy.

Sei Sohor

Payer ache sudhui chhap, sabder obhab;
Tomar olite golite bigolito borofer prolap.
Sandhyer aloy jara knaache unki diye palay
Ei chobi tader niye, kobji jora sobuj patay.

Amar gaan dhorar obhyesh toiri holo na
Je dorir ekul okul bnadha, ta ki aar amar!
Ar tumi bolcho nodi aar tar kul-kinara?
Majh setute neche bhabcho uthonta byaka.

Tomra biplob chere prem dhorechile
Ekhon tai prem purono hole kar apotti?
Majhari guitar churi hoyeche majhratre
Ajker din tahole sudhui sototar sotgoti?

Tai amar sandhye aj tomari payer chhap,
Amar chokhe agamir dik bhranto prolap
Chobir gobhire hariyeche jome thaka obhab
Oli goli-te hariyo na, jotoi hok na swabhab.

The new hunt; Fascination

Fascination was the treasure she hunted
A long black tunnel, glowing in silence
She walked in, pierced by light's needle
A flicker, a taste and then it was gone.

How the mighty disappoint, she thought
Every mountain reeks of the same rigidity
And for a moment, she had felt it move
Oh stupid me! She scolded her profanity.

She dreams of an alpine in the plains
Even the seed had appeared before her
But it was only a dream, she decided
A doubt, is he just another tree-to-be?

But where is he now, without the soil?
Sprouted and wrapped in a silver foil
Like the child who had discovered him
The poet buries himself for her next dream.

The Shore

Where the shore lies at rest
By a silent sea, and distant birds,
Where the sand eases under weight
In an afternoon of soothing rays
You will find me someday, resting
Waiting for the forgotten footsteps.

Blue in its calmness will kiss the canvas
And the horizon breeze will rest in my arms
A little lost will be my shadow under me
The water shall provide softness to my feet
The time will finally take its long earned break
And in an artist's dream, an epoch shall be framed.

So when you learn to read what lines mean
The breeze will be yours like it's meant to be.
You will find my shore, in your very own eyes
And the blue will fly where the seagulls reside.
What of my shadow that the afternoon dries?
That belonging, Sweetheart, will forever be mine.

Brishti anasrishti

Halka brishtir madhye load shedding hoyate Raktim ektu biroktoi bodh korchilo. Eke shonibar, EPL er din; tar madhye brishti te baire beronoo pondo! Almarir bhetor theke ekta mombati ber kore Raktim seta jwalalo. Shyambajar er paanch mathar mor theke mote 200m er moto hnatlei Raktim er mess. Ranaghat er chele, Kolkatay ekta besarkari company te chakrir sutre thaka. Je bariti te Raktim thake seti dotola. Opor tolay barir malik swaparibare thaken. Nicher tolay ekta uthon, ekta shared bathroom o toilet, ekta kitchen er sathe tin te thakar ghor. Rastar diker ghor ti te Raktim thake. Bhetorer duti ghorer prothomtay thaken Ashim babu. Ini abostha-bipanyo ekjon ukil, boyosh 45 er kachakachi. Anyo ghorti bhara niyeche college er ek porua, Sayan. Ei chele tir boyosh 20. Jaypuria college er English Hons. er chatro. Kaktalio bhabei eder boyesher majhkhane pore geche Raktim.Tar boyosh 32. 

Mombatir pashe ekta kobitar boi niye Raktim samay katate chailo. Or ghorer ekti janala rastar dike o anyo ta uthoner dike. Kobitay jodio mon boschilo na Raktimer. Ei brishtir madhye chata niye beronor chele o noy, kintu ei abohaway mon ta cha r telebhaja khubi chaiche. Emon samay or ghorer dorjar kora narar awaj elo. Ashim da dakche, r ki!
Dorja khultei tak matha bete moto ekjon manush ghore dhuke elo. Naker niche soru ekta gnof. Dari othe na, tai clean shave kore thaken byakti ti.

Ashim da : Uf! ki jwalaton bolo to he!
Raktim : ki r korben? Kothao taare gaach poreche hoyto dekhun.
Ashim da : Amader line to nich diye ashe bapu. Kon century te achi bolo to!
Raktim : Apni korchilen ta ki ghore? Amar to match dekha ta mara gelo.
Ashim da  : Chutir din ki korbo he? Ghumacchilam.
Raktim : se to dupure shuyechen. Tahole to bolte hoy bhalo hoyeche current giye.
Ashim da: Roder madhye mokkel khunje berai bujhecho? Tomader moto AC ghore din kate na amar.
Raktim : Aha chotchen kano? Ekhon ghumacchilen. Er por to raate ghum hoy na bole daktarer kache chutben.

"O Raktim da!" Bairer janla theke Sayaner hnaak bheshe aslo ghorer bhetor. Mathay chata niye donto-bikosito chele ti plastic-e mora ekta thonga duliye dekhacche. "Aloor chop, beguni; cholbe naki tomader?"

Ek gaal hashi niye Raktim bollo, "Are cholbe ki bolchho? Urbe urbe."
"Uru Uru, mon ta kore uru uru" gayite gayite Sayan bairer dorja khule uthone dhuklo. Tarpor chata rekhe barandar kache astei Raktim or haat theke thonga ta niye nilo. Sayaner haat pa dhoya hole dujone mile ek sathe Raktimer ghore elo.

Raktim :Ei je Ashim da, dhorun. Ekdom gorom.
Ashim da (hashi mukhe) : nebo nebo. tomra nao age.
Sayan : Koi dekhi dekhi, beguni ta kintu Shyamal da bere bhaje.
Ashim da : To tomar college aj chuti dayni kano?
Sayan : Kano aj ki?
Ashim da : seki. saradin brishti hocche. manush berobe ki kore bari theke?
Sayan : Ashim da, apnader din r nei. Manush ekhon berote pare rastay.
Ashim da : ta obosshyo pare. amra to bhai brishtir dine chuti katatam.
Sayan : Hya ta bojhai jay.
Ashim da : Mane? ki bolte chaicho?

Abostha ektu besamaler dike jacche dekhe Raktim bollo, "amar to chop ta darun lagche. ki bolen Ashim da?"

Ashim da : Hmm.
Raktim : to Sayan aj ki poralo shuni.

Sayan o Raktim bondhur moto. Raktim er literature e interest ache khubi. Tai aro Sayan er sathe tar mil. Sayan Ashim ke khub ekta pochondo kore na. Lok ta khali sob kichu ke galagal kortei byasto. Ei tin joner keu i bibahito noy. Tobe Sayan er girlfriend ache, Soumi. Soumir sathe Raktimer porichoy thakleo Ashimer samne take kokhoni aneni Sayan. Boddo beshii sekele r khitkhite ei lok ta, or mone hoy.

Sayan : Shakespeare. Antony and Cleopatra.
Raktim : Mukherjee babu class ta korte parten. ki bolis?
ektu heshe Sayan bollo, "thak. korle hoyto bobar mukheo katha futiye dito, ke jane?"
Ashim da : ei je chokra, tumi cinema banate koto kath khor pore ta jano?
Sayan : kon cinema? bhalo na baje?
Ashim da : Uh! roab dekho cheler. Shono, amader samay to jano na ki haal chilo industryr. Ei Bumba da, chiranjeet da, Abhishek, Tapas Paul jodi na thakto...
Raktim : Are charun to oi gandu tar katha.
Ashim da : ki bolle? gandu? Ei Tapas Paul jokhon dadar kirti kore tokhon jano ki craze chilo? Tomra sudhu ekhon tar lyaje-gobore abostha dekhe khisti korcho. r amay khitkhite bolo.
Sayan : Meye der niye je orom bhasay katha bole tader ei generation eromi reaction day. Apni TMC bole gaaye lagche apnar.
Ashim da : accha? ami to noy TMC. Tumi ki he?
Sayan : ami kichu na.
Ashim da : na narkel na snash, ami holem hawa.
Raktim : oke bhyangacchen kano? Political colour thaktei hobe ki sob samay?
Ashim da : Na ta kano thakbe bolo? Prem thakbe. Mon laga lagi thakbe. Bicchiri chitkar jake naki gaan bola hoy, tao thakbe. Politics r kano thakbe?
Raktim : Politics thaka r political colour thaka to ek noy.
Ashim da : Tai naki? Emon ekta political movement dekhao jetay age ba pore rong lageni.
Raktim : Duniyay? Naki deshe?
Ashim da : jeta icche.
Raktim : Ireland er feminist movement.
Ashim da : abar osob feminism teminism tano kano bhai?
Sayan : kano? thiki to udahoron diyeche. naribaad-e biswas nei bujhi apnar?
Ashim da : tumi thamo to he. premika jedin anyer haat dhore hatbe sedin sob baad-i baad hoye jabe.
Sayan : ke boleche apnake?
Raktim : ei dara dara. uttejito hosh na. Ashim da, udahoron to ami dilam.
Ashim da : Tumi nischoi jano se deshe mahila der party ache. otoeb rong tao ache.
Raktim : Besh apnake deshi example dicchi. Rabindranath.
Ashim da : Uni to lekhok, kobi, gayok, bhagaban. Onake teno na.
Raktim : Apnar kache hote paren. Amar kache to uni ekjon uccho storer manush. R onar movement to political botei. Ekadhik udahoron uni-i rekhe gechen.
Sayan : Vidyasagar.
Raktim : Shabbas!
Ashim da : Er por bolbe Ram Mohan. Tar por Kejriwal.
Sayan : Apni age bolun preme porechen kokhono?

Hothat erom ekta proshner teer-e obak hoye Ashim takalo Sayaner dike. Baccha chele tobe hab bhabe bishal kichu. Pore to byata Jaypuriay. Jadavpur, Presi ba Xavier's holeo noy hoto. Ingreji pore r nijeke bileti bhabe!

Ashim da : Prem bojho?

Ghorer baki dujon erom ekta uttor peye montro mugdha hoye Ashimer dike cheye thaklo.

Ashim da : Jiggesh jokhon korlei tokhon shono. KIchu manusher jibone bhalobasha oto sohoj hoy na.
Sayan : 90s er sad story bolben ekhon?
Raktim dhomke Sayan ke thamay, "chup ekdom. Apni bolun Ashim da."
Ashim da (Sayan ke) : ki mone koro he? Sob bujhe gecho duniyar? Narider rights niye eto bhabna, eto dorod. Kauke pochondo hole seta take janate kamon lage?
Sayan : kamon abar? bhalo.
Ashim da : Kokhono emon hoyeche je jake bhalo laglo take bolte parle na?
Sayan : hya, hoyeche.
Ashim da : Emono ki hoyeche je kaukei bolte parle na je tomar ek jon ke bhalo legeche?
Sayan (ektu bhebe) : khub personal hole to nai bolte pari.
Ashim da : kaukei bolte parcho na erom hoyeche kokhono?nijer best friend keo na, dada, didi, ma, baba, anyo bondhu, kaukei na. sudhu nijer madhyei gumre rakhte hobe sara jibon emon hoyeche?
Sayan : Na. Ami chepe rakhi na. kauke na kauke to bolei di.
Ashim da : sudhu tumi na. praay sobai tai kore. praay.
Sayan : Apni bolen ni?
Ashim : Ami tokhon school e pori. Amader co-ed school. Amar best friend-er proti hothati ekdin dekhlam bhalobasha asche. Take dhorte icche korche, take dekhte thaktei icche korche. Tar chokh, thont amar mathay ghure beracche. bari phire tar chobi enke fellam. Nikhnut. porer din take dilam-o. se to khub khusi. kintu kichui bujhlo na amar moner madhye ki hocche tokhon. Esob class 9 er ghotona. Bochor dui sudhu bhablam take bolbo ki bolbo na. kauke bolte partam na. jantam keu bujhbe na. je bujhto take boltei to sob bhoy. Ekdin se amay first period-e bollo je se ekjon ke propose koreche ebong uttore "hya" shuneche. Amar moner bhetore gore otha du bochorer attalika bhenge churmar hoye galo. Haslam. Bollam, "dekha korabi na?" Se amay third bench-er majhkhane bosha meyeti ke dekhalo.
Er poreo amar bhalo legeche anyeder. kintu ki jano to eto sohoje amra bolte parina je bhalobashi. Allowed noy. Tomader kache bhalobasha bilashita. Amader kache obhab.

TV er awaj hothati jeno sob bhenge deoyar moto beje uthlo. Tube light alomoy kore dilo ghor. Mom ta nibhiye Ashim ghor theke beriye nijer ghore chole galo.

Sur

Jekhane poth bnekeche
Mather dhare sandhyakale;
Jhorer megh jar batayone,
Sei sur-e aj gaan diyeche dola.
E gaan noy hariye jaoar
Noyko adou chaoa paoar;
Eto to sudhui tomar amar
Notun basanter fuler dala.
Jokhon raat nambe chokhe
Aar ghum harabe karmo-srote
Sei bhore sokoler nibhrite
Tomar ghorer bhangbe e gaan tala.
Tai hridoy-ei borong rakho amay
Sob tarar alo jekhane chhoray
Swaralipir onke katte dao samay
Madhyanye khunjo na notun jatra pala.

Prarthona

Tumi jetha hariyecho
Harate cheyecho barbar
Sei baganer jhora bokul
Aj amar muthoy rongin.

Sokal-e ekai shunchi pakhir daak
Nei kono haat jar sparshe nirbaak
Sampurnota amay bhore rakhe;
Amar gaan hariye jay ekakitter byarthotay.

Je gaacher aaral theke tomay dekha
Sei gaach-o aj amay shantonay bholay
Amar pa atke jay matir shikore
Pakhna nei tai hahakar-o nirobota pay.

Jake daki mor antorer taronay
Se sara day sudhu tomar bhalobashay
Je poth bechechi nijer sadhonar tore
Sei poth alokito koro tomar ashirbade.

Ja dukkho mor dhuye dao gyaner srabone
Aandhar bhenge niye cholo more aloy
Amar dik nirnoy tumii koro, tomar sure
Sob asomo ke soman koro premer chnoyay.

Amar truti hote mukto koro amay
Gaaner barsha hok shantir sandhyay
Chahidar shekol chire dao brihotter daan
Jagyo koro amay; aar nei kono protidan.

Alor sagore amay bileen koro.

Sundori Sandhya

Amar kul bhaslo satyir jowar-e
Srot dheu-e hariye boye jay
Sudur digonto bistrito sandhya-e
Jekhane sankher awaj, sundorir chhaya-e.

Je megh jhor-er ashonka dekhiyechilo
Kokhon kete galo kheyal hoyni noukay
Dolay kono chhobi-o uthlo na jontre
Roye galo bhorer ghum chokhe, patay.

Tomar itihash lepte niyechhe nijeke seet-ghume
Take narte gelei chhobol er shonka theke jay
Tai pari diyechi ulto srote, chand o tarar majhe
Jekhane anyo pare projapoti paoa jay.

Ei sandhya mishe geche nutan puratone
Raat khelbe alo andharir chhoya-chhui
Amader pukur par aj-o amay pay
Tai nirdwidhay urte paro, hawa jedik boy.

Ahamyok

আহাম্মক!  তুই নাকি প্রেমিক হবি
তোর কথায় কথায় ভুল, ভুলের ছবি
তোর ইতিহাসের খাতায় ১০০-এ ৮০
তোর কবিতার ভেঙেছে দাঁত-কপাটি।
কোন শহর যেন ঘুরেছিলি অন্ধকারে?
কোন গলিতে ভয় ঠেলেছিলি দূরে?
সেই স্বপ্ন গুলো নে পকেটে পুরে
আজ তোর গান ভোরে নেই সুরে।

যারা ভালোবাসায় হারিয়ে চৈতন্য হয়
তাদের সমুদ্র আছে, থাক; ডুবতে দে
তুই স্বাদ মেটা বরং শুধু হাওয়া খেয়ে
তবে কিছু বালি ঢুকবে চোখে, সাবধানে!
খোলা চোখে যা দেখিস তাতে সেঁকে নে
হাত ধরবি তো বায়না রাখ চৌকির তলে
যেখানে বিকেলের গান ভাসে সকালের রোদে
সেই ছাদে গান গাইবো আমি, ডানা মেলে।